


all these sorrows i have seen

by kay_emm_gee



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Dreams, F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Nightmares, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 20:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5979730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes dreams are worse than nightmares (or what woke Clarke up from sleep with Niylah in wasn’t what we all thought it was).</p>
            </blockquote>





	all these sorrows i have seen

**Author's Note:**

> A Clarke-centric fic with smatterings of her relationships (including both Clexa and Bellarke) with everyone. Tagged the ships because they are both described at various points (hope this isn't a problem)!

“Go over there and talk to her.”

Clarke jerks her gaze away from the fire to find Bellamy smirking at her. She pretends she didn’t hear him. “What?”

“I said,” he repeats with a laugh, “go over and talk to Lexa.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

Bellamy snorts, and she ducks her head to hide a grin. It’s an old joke between them now, not so painful as it used to be. Sharing the burden of leadership at camp again has gotten them back on solid ground, if living on Earth can ever be that.

“She’s not the commander anymore. There’s nothing in the way. So go.”

With that he gives her a little push, and Clarke scowls at her now apparent wingman.

“Did she put you up to this?”

“I’m offended. Here I am just trying to look out for your well-being–”

“Being nosy is what you are.”

He laughs again, then shakes his hand. “ _Go._ ”

Clarke subtly flashes him the finger, but as she does so, another laugh–higher but still throaty–catches her attention. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Lexa throw her head back, brown hair tumbling over her shoulders. It is free from braids for once, loose and curling. Lexa is free now too, having stepped down from the role of commander to let Aden take over. She hadn’t talked to Clarke much since, giving her the space and time she had asked for. Now though, with Bellamy’s words in her head, she wondered if it was what she still wanted. When she heard Lexa laugh again, she wished she were the one winning that happy sound from her.

“If you don’t say anything, I will,” Bellamy taunts behind her.

She sighs and then punches his shoulder. “I’m going, I’m going.”

“Bear your heart, Griffin! It’s good for the soul!” He whisper-shouts as she turns to approach Lexa.

Intending to do just that, she walks away with a smile on her face…

* * *

…with a smile on her face, she runs through the camp while looking for that familiar head of curly brown hair. When the messenger came saying Bellamy’s squadron had survived the battle fully intact, she had nearly cried from relief.

Months without him had taught her how much he meant to her, and the war with the Ice Nation had made her learn the hard way how much her soul ached at the thought of losing him for good.

“Klark!”

She stops dead, turning on her heel to find Lexa approaching in full battle gear, lengths of fabric billowing behind her.

“You’ve heard?” The Commander asks, no doubt reading the joy on her face.

“Do you know where they are?”

Lexa raises her eyebrows slightly, and to anyone else it would seem like nothing. Clarke, though, knows that is how the Commander expresses amusement. Anything more would make her seem like Lexa instead of the brave, stoic leader who her people need her to be.

“Bellamy,” Lexa says with pointed, fond emphasis, “is on the west side of camp. He’s being debriefed by Indra.”

“And everyone else?” Clarke asks lightly. She’s fooling no one, least of all Lexa, but she takes in in stride regardless.

“They are also with him.” Her lips part as if she’s going to say something. Clarke knows what is on the tip of her tongue, can read the question in her eyes. _Do you care about him more now?_

She doesn’t need to answer, because Lexa knows her as well as she knows Lexa. They bled and fought and slept under the same stars; they are one in a way she could never be with anyone else.

So instead, as the best farewell she can give her because they both know she is finally going home now that the war is won, Clarke just says, “Thank you.”

The Commander nods, softening for a brief moment, giving Clarke the closure she needs as well.

One last nod, and then Clarke runs…

* * *

…Clarke runs right into Jasper in the middle of the crowded, raucous dropship camp that is filled with celebrating delinquents. He squawks, and moonshine flies everywhere.

“Sorry!” She laughs, dancing around him.

“It’s okay. I know the bartender. He can hook me up with more,” Jasper concedes with a wink, whistling as he walks away to go find Monty, and Maya waves to her as she follows him.

“Good luck with that,” she mutters under her breath fondly. The last time she had seen Monty, Miller had been coaxing him away from his bar duties to go make out against some trees.

She sips on her own moonshine as she wanders through the crowd. She smiles when she sees Raven schooling some of the kids in a drinking game. Her arms shoot up in celebration and she whoops when her coin goes into the cup, and she has never looked happier. Clarke nearly goes over to join them–someone needs to at least make it a little challenging for Raven–but then someone calls her name and she continues onward.

Octavia and Lincoln look just as happy when Clarke passes them, his arms looped around her middle as they stand swaying to the music crackling out of the sound system Monty and Raven had jerry-rigged up for the party tonight. She waves, and they grin at her before looking back at one another, completely enraptured.

“Have you seen Lexa?” Clarke asks when she gets to the next fire where Finn and Murphy are sitting.

Finn shrugs, not looking up from the arm wrestling competition he and the other boy are having as Monroe and Harper and Fox cheer them on. “Emori said she saw her and Costia heading home a little while ago.”

Murphy snorts at the _heading home_ , and Clarke rolls her eyes at his dirty mind. Nodding farewell, she continues to meander through the party. Her limbs feel light, feather-light, and warmth from the liquor and many fires dotting the yard make her skin prickle and tingle. A bubbly feeling rises in her when she hears Bellamy laughing at a joke Gina has made, his arms wrapped around her and her head leaning on his shoulder. They see her and raise their glasses with a smile, and she does the same, fond and content.

“Another round?’

She spins around grinning to find Wells standing there, two cups in his hands.

“Trying to get me drunk, friend?” she teases but takes the drink anyways. He knocks her elbow, and she knocks his back, a give and take and tease and taunt that has been theirs and theirs alone since they were children.

“You’re high on life, Clarke,” he rumbles, eyes dancing with amusement. “I don’t think you could get any happier even if you drank all the moonshine on Earth.”

His words settle deep in her gut, weaving their way into her sinew and etching themselves on her bones.

“No,” she admits quietly, throat thick and eyes watering joyfully. “I couldn’t be any happier.”

* * *

_She wakes with a jolt, heart pounding in her chest. Clutching the furs to her bare skin, Clarke sucks in unsteady, frightened breaths as she registers why she is so warm and why their are no trees or stars around her._

_The panther. Niylah. The hunter. Drinking. The wound. Kissing._

_The trading post is quiet, dimly lit by only a few candles. Her stomach rolls and clenches painfully as she remembers her reality._

_No friends. No family. Nothing but kill or be killed._

_She nearly chokes on the barrenness of it, so recently in her dreams having tasted what she could have had (maybe could still have). These dreams–the ones where she is happy, loved and loving, surrounded by warm bodies and warmer hearts–are worse than the nightmares where the dead call for her blood or the living demand she kill for them again._

_They are the torturous reminder of could-have-been, and it feels like a dagger to the gut each time she wakes up and remembers: she chose differently._

_Suddenly Niylah breathes in slowly, shifting a bit under the covers. Panic surges through Clarke, a restlessness in her muscles telling her she has stayed here too long._

_So she slips out of the bed, out of the post and into the dark without a word, leaving a warm body and a warm heart behind. She has done it before and will do it again because she is running from something not even the brightest of souls could extinguish._


End file.
